


you're where i want to be

by sarcasticfishes



Category: Actor RPF, Hunger Games (2012) RPF
Genre: Actors, F/M, Headcanon, RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-30
Updated: 2012-03-30
Packaged: 2017-11-02 18:15:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/371913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcasticfishes/pseuds/sarcasticfishes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Usually she rings the bell out of playfulness, scurrying off to her own room before he can answer the door, or even turn over in the bed. But tonight for some reason, she doesn’t. She stays there by the door, in the dark and the cold, arms wrapped around her torso, and waits for him to open up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you're where i want to be

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Idk what this is. It's my headcanon I guess. For what happened on set during filming of THG.

They never talk about him on set. Or at least, he never comes up in the conversation. It’s always about them two. About _their_ lives, but he never comes into the equation. It’s always “So, you having sushi for lunch today?” and “The blonde is really growing on me, Josh.”

But never _him._

Especially when she’s coming back to her room late one night after filming, when she’s passing his room and she rings the bell, irritated that he gets off before her, that he gets to shower off the make-up and the grime, gets to crawl into bed before she does. Usually she rings the bell out of playfulness, scurrying off to her own room before he can answer the door, or even turn over in the bed.

But tonight for some reason, she doesn’t. She stays there by the door, in the dark and the cold, arms wrapped around her torso. He hair is still braided up, from the day, and without make-up, she looks years younger than her twenty-one years.

He doesn’t answer. By now he’s learned her game, and merely wriggles down further under the covers, she guesses. She rings the bell again, more urgently this time.

It’s something like anticipation that’s building up then, waiting for the moment he opens the door. And she doesn’t know what she’ll do when he does, but her gut is telling her to stay put, get him to come to her.

No answer. She resorts to banging.

“Hutch!” hammering her fist against the door, it’s way too loud in the dark. “Josh, get out here.”

There’s some scrabbling around inside, some flipping of locks, and then he’s there. Yellow hair askew, eyes dark and sleepy.

“Jen, the fuck?”

“I…”

She pauses, taking in his appearance. Flannel pants in red check, white t-shirt tight across his chest- how can he sleep in something that constricting? Can’t be comfortable. Sure looks good.

“You sleep in that?”

“Yeah,” he says, muted by a yawn as he leaned his head against the door, “Look, it’s 3am. What did you want?”

“I… don’t know,” she shrugged, and he let out a noise that sounded somewhere between amusement and frustration. “Can I come in?”

“I was asleep.”

“Whatever, let me in,” she brushes past him, into the mini flat he’d acquired while filming. Kitchenette with a fridge, sink, stove. Sofa and TV. Josh’s Xbox set up by the foot of the coffee table. Door to the bathroom is wide open.  It’s identical to hers, so she knows that the door just beyond the sofa is his bedroom.

“Jen?”

“Yeah?”

“You okay?” His voice is soft, a little hoarse, and when she looks back, he’s closed the door and is leaning back against it and is rubbing at his eyes. He’s got freckles, hundreds, she’s never really noticed before.

“I…  just wanted to be here,” she said, quietly, brushing her fringe back, finding the end of the plait and undoing the tie, running her fingers through it until she feels more like herself and a little less like Katniss.

“Here?” He asks, raising an eyebrow at her, and it makes her stomach clench.

“There,” she corrects herself, glancing back over her shoulder at the door to his room, and his eyes follow, a look of realisation working its way across his features.

“Bed.”

“Yeah.”

“Mine?”

“Yeah.”

“Me?”

“Yeah,” she doesn’t know how to make it any more obvious, without saying it outright. And she can’t say it outright. But maybe that’s what he needs to hear. Whether it’s for his own personal reasons or the fact that it _is_ 3am and she’s just woke him up.

He takes a step forward, and she almost jumps out of her skin with fright. Ridiculous, because it was slow and measured, and it’s not like she hadn’t expected it. What else could he do?

Though she doesn’t expect him to take her chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilt her head towards the light coming through the window.

“Are you drunk?” his eyes are narrowed, confused (maybe he thinks he’s still sleeping).

“Josh, no,” she flips his hand away, “Jesus. No,” she doesn’t do that. Not while working anyway.

She’s trying to work up the courage, to put her hands on him. Anywhere at all. Chest, neck, waist, hips. She kinda wants it all, not sure why. The question is still there.

“Then what do you want?” it’s like he’s reading her mind.

“You,” she answers without thinking, and the look on his face is utterly priceless. But it’s true. She wants him. His arms around her, his hips against hers, his mouth on her skin. It’s getting worse every day, she just wants him more and more (as cliché as it sounds, she really does). And she knows she shouldn’t, but it’s hard to fight.

“Me.”

“You.”

“Me?”

“ _Fuck_ , Josh-” he’ starting to piss her off, but the fact is that if he doesn’t _do_ something now, she’s just going to… to _die_ or. Something.

“ _You_ … want… _me_.”

“ _Yes_ , I w-”

Ugh. Finally.

He stops her in her tracks, with his fingertips against her mouth, biting his lip slightly (like he’s mentally arguing with himself, she thinks).

“Okay.” He says, low and soft.

His fingers slip down along her neck, real slow, steady, like he’s giving her time to rethink, but there’s no need because she’s been thinking about it nonstop. Not that she’d ever admit it to herself. Not that she’d ever admit it to him.

It’s when his fingers are ghosting over her breastbone, that she feels her breathing falter, and it’s hard to regain control.

“I… Josh, just-” it’s like he could tell what she wanted before she said it, because he leans in then, covering her mouth with his, gently but firm, and she can’t stop the noise that slips out, that makes him smile against her mouth.

She lets her hands move then, from clenched at her side to fisting in the white material by his waist, pulling him in close. He shifts his hips closer, arm resting against the wall above her head, and he groans, the noise deep in the back of his throat.

“Can we-?”

“Yeah,” he breathes, taking her hand in his and pulling her towards to bedroom. His mouth is still on hers, kissing, tugging at her lips, tongue snaking out to touch her lips until she opens her mouth against his, allowing him to properly slip his tongue into her mouth and – _why haven’t they been doing this all the time?_

She’s still holding his hips as he backs her towards the bed, pushing her down, crawling up over her, his fingers on the waistband on her shorts. He pops the button open easily, sliding the soft material down swiftly over her legs. It hits the floor with a soft _thwump_ and she immediately grabs his t-shirt, pulling him down over her. His fingers are quick when they move up under her t-shirt, skimming along the underside of her bra, pushing the material up until they have to break apart to slip it over her head. But she wants his shirt off too, and that comes next, with some tugging and some encouragement, with her fingers skimming his chest (firm, broad, nicely filled out) up to his neck, knotting in his hair as their tongues meet again.

It’s wrong, in so many ways but she can’t help the need for him that’s growing, the pleasant buzz between her thighs where he rests against her, grinding slowly (barely) as they kiss. And he’s pretty much hard already.

“I- _oh_ ,” she gasps when his mouth finds her neck, a soft and sensitive spot below her ear, and sucks there. He’s gonna leave a mark, she knows. She doesn’t care. His fingers hook into the waistband of her panties, and he pulls back enough to look her in the eye, seek approval, that this is what she wants. What she _needs_ from him.

Yes. _Yes_.

Lace slipping down her thighs, over her ankles, on the floor. Her legs are raised, ankles together, and his mouth is on her, right _there_. She can’t stop the moan that tumbles out as his tongue gently slips inside her, a soft motion like a wave before he lets her legs fall around his shoulders. Quickly, his fingers replace his tongue, and _oh_ , that’s really a whole lot better because she feels so much fuller (his hands are big, two fingers is nearly too much. But not enough really).

“ _God_ ,” the word escapes when his free hand soothes over her hip and his tongue slides over that one spot where she’s most sensitive, where she has the least control, and his mouth covers her wetly.

She reaches down, hand finding its way into his hair, soft from the shower, good for gripping, and he grunts when she tugs on his hair because _fuck_ it feels really good, and _oh_ he’s going to make her come like this, isn’t he?

“J-Josh,” his name comes out a little shaky, and he gives a particularly hard thrust with his hand, causing her body to reel up against his mouth, and he moves just a little faster as he can feel her getting more and more wound up. “Fuck, don’t-” _stop_. She can’t get the word out, his mouth is too hot. Too wet. Feels to good. She can’t form a word to explain to him what she’s feeling, just letting out another moan as he keeps moving his tongue against her.

She feels like she’s _dying_. It’s been a while since it’s felt this good.

“Please,” she finally manages to find the word, looking down as his eyes open, look up at her, glittering green in the dark. Fuck. _Fuck_. He winks at her. It’s ridiculous, but she’d swear he’s smiling. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

Her eyes slide closed again, but the image is still burned into the inside of her eyelids. That smile. How red and swollen his lips looked. The way his hand moved back and forth – _oh_ , she just lets herself concentrate on the feeling after that, moving her hips against his mouth, faster as she’s racing towards the end. But she doesn’t want it to be the end.

“Josh, I-” gasping, can’t- no. _Use your words, Jennifer_ , “-want _you_ ,” she’s still too shy to say it? It’s not like her, she knows, but there’s also something entirely surreal about this whole situation that means she’s allowed to feel a little less like herself than normal.

“Mmm,” is his reply, and it’s the word (word?) that tips her right over the edge, a soft vibration against her skin that has her coming around his fingers, pulses of pleasure, shocks racing over her like she’s the shore and his mouth is the wave, it’s the ocean slinking in on her being.

She can’t quite breathe, and he’s still licking at her, sucking slightly, teeth grazing (barely) but it’s all part of how _good_ it feels to have his mouth touching her like that.

Finally when the pleasure recedes, she has to pull him off, and he’s reluctant to stop (and she’s reluctant to stop him, but if he goes on any longer she might just melt into the sheets, and that wasn’t recommendable).

“Oh,” she breathes out, eyes closed, and he’s half slipping off the bed, but he pulls himself up, smiling at her with something like satisfaction, but he’s obviously still very hard and she doesn’t know quite how to handle that. She knows how she’d _like_ to handle it. Just not if she could take it right now.

She’s still buzzing, and as much as she wants him inside her, she’s not ready to take him in. She might implode.

“Oh?” he says, voice husky and low. He sounds a little dangerous but she likes it.

“Oh,” she repeats, “Oh fuck, I-” how how how “-fuck me.”

“Mmm, now?” he questions, lips trailing along the top of her bra, and he reaches  underneath her, the fabric going slack as he undoes the clasp, and tugs it off. He’s smiling at her, eyes dark and she can practically feel the smoulder on her skin. But she likes him looking at her like that.

“Now,” Okay. So regardless of whether she _can_ take it or not, she’s going to take it anyway.

He disappears off the bed for a moment then, and she whimpers, not able to move just yet, but he’s just in the bathroom (she hears something clatter into the sink, him swearing, some rustling) and oh. She gets it. Of course. How stupid of her.

The second he’s back on the bed, her hands are on his waist, pulling at his pants, he’s not wearing anything underneath, and she’s teasing the both of them when she’s dragging them down so slow it must be painful. His fists are clenched though, and he perseveres.

The waistband catches his cock, elastic around his thighs, and then she can’t wait anymore really, and yanks it down, holding in her giggle when it slaps back up and _god_ , he’s really hard.

And yeah, she’s not so good at holding in that giggle.

But she wants to touch him. Because he’s already ripping the foil off the condom and if she doesn’t do it now she won’t be able to do it again, probably. So she takes the column of flesh in her hand, not moving, just giving a gentle squeeze and enjoying his hoarse moan. He’s not even holding back. Good. That makes two of them.

Slick, slide, roll, the condom’s down over his cock and as much as she wants it in her mouth, she wants to feel him and can’t really bring herself to speak.

He aligns himself, starts to push in real slow and _oh oh oh fucking hell_ , that’s… _oh_. It feels strange. She’s still on a high, and the pleasant tingling between her legs is suddenly heightened again as he gives the first thrust, and it rips a tight moan from his mouth, hands holding him up, propped above her head.

She feels her body following the rhythm of his thrusts, hips moving along like a wave up against him andfuck, he’s so thick.It’s ten times as bad as his fingers, and by ten times as bad, she obviously means ten times as good. Ten times better.

Deep, reaching somewhere his fingers couldn’t go, pulsing, pushing hard, she can feel that pleasure rising again and shit- is this really happening? Is she-f _uck_. Yes.

“Uh- Oh- _Josh_ ,” fuck, maybe she’s too loud. There are other people in the building, but he’s saying her name too, just as loud, but it’s too good. He’s too good.

She wonders what’s going through his head, what he’s thinking right now.

She wonders if he’ll want this again sometime because she knows she will.

She wonders- and then she stops thinking all together.

Coming again, she can’t stop herself. It’s fast, and hard, and takes her aback completely, but he’s rocking the bed with her, and he kisses her hard and she can taste herself on him but it’s not the worst thing in the entire world.

He pretty much collapses on her, heavy and muscly, he feels really good like this, she doesn’t want him to go. Her legs tangle up around his waist, holding him there not really caring if she melts anymore. He moves in slow circles against her, grinding until all the feeling is gone and she thinks she’s numb.

Is it even possible to be numb?

The thought makes her laugh out loud, and he lifts his head to look at her curiously.

“That bad?” (it's really the opposite)

“I can’t feel anymore,” she explains, and is shocked to find her voice is rough and cracked. She doesn’t even remember making much noise.

He stops then, pulls out with a groan, falling onto the sheets beside her.

“Well. Fuck,” he says quietly, and they share a look over the duvet, something that says _this shouldn’t have happened_ but both of them know they don’t really care that it has. It felt too good to care. It still feels good (even if she can’t feel much anymore).

“I think… you’re _too much_ ,” she says, quietly, hearing him chuckle from her sigh side.

“I think you’re just enough. Just right,” he replies, chewing on his lip.

But.

She has a boyfriend.

And they both know it.

But neither say a word. She gets up on her knees, straddling his hips, kissing him for a moment before rolling back into the sheets and pulling them up over her shoulders as he joins her.

Tomorrow will be back to normal.

And they never talk about him on the set.


End file.
